Shooting Star

Still waiting by the garden shed, no miracle has happened yet. I wonder if she's gone to bed or if her father will not let her meet me this midsummernight. I hold a rose, she waits with me, perhaps I'm holding her too tight. And could it be she would be free had I not grabbed her 'gainst her will? What if a high-fallutin' being did swoop in for that virgin kill, and, after touching her and seeing this treasure who had tried to sneak out of the house to meet her date? All my thoughts had now turned bleak and the hour was quite late, then I saw, with teary eye in the distance, oh so far, how my little Lorelei went heavenward, a shooting star.